Danny comes bounding out like some boutiquey little terrier — pink tongue wagging, poofy hair bobbling about, that unflattenable excitement in his eyes — only to implore you to ingest party drugs and mash genitals together in inventive, percussive ways. He is, as your mom has pointed out, just a "good times friend."

Singalongs: C

While his crowd at a regular festival stage and certainly at a club show would know all about "smokin' and drinkin'" and how much it costs to get Danny's momma to braid your hair, the massive, but perhaps not-terribly-well-acquainted crowd that showed up for free entertainment at Y-D Square fell pretty flat anytime Danny threw the mic their way, and not quite getting the hint, Danny kept doing it.

Hangout: B-

For a certain section of a certain generation, this was the coolest place in the world to be. Kids were sipping liquor they no doubt sneaked from daddy's stash, grinding on each other, ripping bong hits from massive glass pieces they'd hauled out from under their beds and lugged down in backpacks. Maybe that's what a Danny Brown concert is supposed to be, but this felt a little too high school flop house.